One-two Punch

Sometimes I get haughty and I think “I am so over getting upset about infertility.” I get used to the incredible strength I have gained during this grueling journey and, as the saying goes, pride cometh before the fall. I fell twice in the past few days. Last week, after bringing the kiddos back from a visit, the CHOR caseworker sat and talked to me about the kids and how things are going – her usual home visit. Towards the end she asked me if one of the supervisors from CHOR had called me about a potential placement – two boys. My heart sank. These are the same two boys that a different caseworker had contacted me about in December. I was supposed to meet them at the CHOR Christmas party but the boys never came. And I took in these two kids I have now and kinda figured it was over. I found it very upsetting that I might be asked about the boys again mostly because they are older in age than what I am hoping and I found it discouraging, like I should take these kids because there’s no way an agency would give me, a single woman, an infant. Yes, just my stupid mind making things up to freak me out and make me feel bad. But, it worked this time. I felt awful the whole next day. Awful because I would not be willing to consider two boys who need a mother. Awful because the hurt these boys must be facing, being abandoned by their mother. Awful because I felt like I must settle and not get what I want. Awful because I worried that God might be putting these boys in front of me again for a reason and I would be too selfish to consider it. Awful because I thought of two precious little boys as settling. Awful because I felt selfish and also like I would have a hard time saying “no.” It was all for naught at this point because no one has contacted me about them again. But, still it jolted me emotionally and set me up for the next event to be even more catastrophic.

I found out last week that a couple composed of a Peace Corps friend and her Nicaraguan husband, are expecting their second child. I felt quite proud of myself that learning of this didn’t send me into a complete and total melt-down. “I’m finally getting the hang of this,” I congratulated myself nearly twisting me arm out of the socket to pat myself heartily on the back. My congratulatory celebration was short lived. I went to a church meeting Saturday morning (child free no less!) and it was a meeting of women to discuss mostly the pastor’s surprise birthday party for this coming Saturday but also other things like testimonies, the yearly yard sale, VBS, etc. I don’t remember how, but at some point the topic of miraculous pregnancies came up and a few women (who had given birth over the summer) were named as recipients of said miracle. After citing a litany of names the pastora (pastor’s wife) mentioned my name and that my miracle baby was still coming. Cringe. Smile politely. Move on. Once the meeting was adjourned we gathered to celebrate another woman’s birthday (as a surprise to her) with a cake and some munchies. While standing around talking, two of the miracle pregnancies descended upon me and proclaimed, yet again, that my miracle pregnancy is a-comin’. One of the women knew that my husband had left and so she threw in that her husband had run away to Puerto Rico with another woman not long before she had gotten pregnant for good measure. She said she was still believing God for her baby, even while she was thousands of miles from her husband. Good on ya Chica! But, I wanted to scream, “Could you STOP?!!” It has taken me an exorbitant amount of time to adjust to the fact that I will not be having a biological child. It was a grieving process that very near killed me, so excuse me for not jumping on the “I’m-going-to-have-a-baby” bandwagon. You, sister in faith, have no idea how detrimental it is to my emotional psyche to hear you pontificate on how you prayed for your blessing and how you thought it would never come, but it did and so it will for me too. Let me let you in on a little secret – you are not God. You have no idea what He has in store for me, so stop trying to tell me what you believe will happen. Worst yet, please do not imply that my faith is not strong enough and that is why God has not fulfilled the desire of my heart. Once the first one started, the second one began. She declared I WILL have my baby. I demurred, trying desperately to not get defensive or angry, stating, “Sure, in the future.” “Future? What future? It could be tonight!” she exclaimed. Um…….. No, for so many reasons, no. First of all, I don’t think God is interested in a second conception via deity. No sperm, no baby, right? Plus, my period was starting and the floodgates have since opened to gushing torrents. Wrong time of the month Chica. When I turned red (I blush so easily!) from trying to contain my mounting anger, she mistook it as me being coy and had a jolly good time pointing it out to other innocent bystanders. Eventually, I was able to flee from their misguided optimism to the comfort of a pedicure and quiet home (until I picked up the kids around 5 that night). And, I didn’t cry or rail at God, but I did feel pretty dam craptastic. I know they are just trying to be positive and encouraging, but the whole interaction was hurtful to me. Unwittingly, they were rubbing my face in the fact that they have become mothers and I have not. Never mind that I am caring for two children right now or that I have cared for other little ones in the past. It means nothing because I have not gotten pregnant or given birth. And how about the fact that I have just passed the anniversary of the end of my marriage? How uncouth of them to talk about getting pregnant, implying that I will either A) get back with Flaco and get knocked up or B) very quickly find a suitable replacement and get knocked up. One should never speak of things they know nothing about. They know nothing about my personal life but felt it was ok to downright demand I agree with them that I will be announcing a pregnancy in the next few weeks. It picked at the old scars I try very hard to cover. It rubbed salt in wounds I thought had fully healed. It left me gasping for air, clawing my way out of that dismal place I try to avoid, and it made me hurt all over. The ache still resounds today, two days later. The wind has been sucked from my sails and the color has drained from my world. It is temporary, I know, but the one-two punch has set me back momentarily.

And if the above one-two punch was not enough to drag me down into the depths of despair, last night completed the task. Ironically, I was supposed to be attending a workshop at the local Ag center on backyard composting; instead, I was throwing out hoards of spoiled food because my refrigerator died. With my father’s assistance I did manage to buy a new ‘fridge and salvage the majority of the frozen foods. But, the new refrigerator is much smaller than the old one because I had limited amount of credit left on my Best Buy card. And the old ‘fridge could not be removed from my house last night (my father and I hauled and installed the new ‘fridge) because my house is devoid of tools and my father did not bring his tool box along on our appliance buying jig. The children, thankfully, were sequestered away at another foster family’s place as had been planned for me to attend the workshop. But, for whatever reason, the family did not put the kids to bed, so the baby was wide awake when I went to pick them up at 10:15 and downright miserable when I woke them up at 6:30 this morning. Granted, I too was pretty grumpy after refrigerator wrestling with mega-cramps (because dealing with you period is not enough of a day-wrecker) and having a hulking dead refrigerator dominating my kitchen creating already cramped living quarters to become unbearable. I want to dig a giant hole in my backyard and inter myself there until “things” are all better. My father came back to my house this afternoon to dismantle and remove the old ‘fridge. Last night he took half of what was in my freezer home with him because now I no longer have the room for it. I had a side-by-side refrigerator that I could fit a pizza box in and now I have a 14.7 cubic foot ‘fridge that barely has room for all the condiments in the old one. And, since the kitchen is small, the ‘fridge is encased in a niche in the wall which is now too big, discolored and has a hideous floor – all of which I need to fix. My head is pounding and I’m kind of half-hoping it will just pop right off the top of my neck. I’m sick to death of it all. Everything. Every dam thing. As my dad was leaving last night I made him help me rearrange the kitchen table because it was blocking the door to the kids bedroom and I was worried about safety risks. “In case of a fire,” I admonished. “I sure hope you don’t have a fire tonight!” my dad exclaimed. “With this run of bad luck I’ve been having, I wouldn’t even be surprised.” As I was driving to pick up the kids I thought to myself, shouldn’t infertility cause the universe to give you a break on other shit happening in your life? Shouldn’t not being able to have a baby throw up a force field to shield out the other nasty crap life can dish out; give you a pass for awhile? But, it just doesn’t work that way, now does it?

Last month, when I was worried the ‘fridge was dying (it just kept running and running and running – looks like my fears were well-founded!) and it came in on the heels of other issues, like my “new” car not turning on, I posted something on Facebook about all the shit that keeps hitting my fans. My cousin implied that I am bringing in on myself because I’m not thinking positively enough. You know, what you think about you bring about. If you read back to my end of year reflection, you will notice that I was cautiously optimistic about 2013 and very sure it would be a better year. Now, I think I am being cosmically punked. Someone is getting their jollies out of torturing me into madness one stupid disaster after another. And I swear, if one more person tells me what doesn’t kill me only makes me stronger I will kick them in the shin and tell them it is to make them a stronger person too! But, infertility, a lost adoption, my husband leaving, two failed foster placements, a sick grandfather, debt, a totaled car, and now a dead refrigerator have yet to break me. Keep chipping away nasty cosmic punker! I’m not broken yet, so bring it! I’m so mother-flippin’ strong I think I can start bending steel with my bare hands! How’s that for positive thinking?

One Year Anniversary

Today it has been a year. One year ago today Flaco announced he was done. Our marriage was over. He moved out the following Saturday and this began the heartbreaking saga of me losing the baby and enduring this dual loss and all the fall-out for the rest of the year. I’m thankful that I am in a much better emotional state today than I was a year ago. Unfortunately, I remember this day in a very visceral way.

I had the day off from work because Flaco and I were supposed to journey to Hershey to see if we would be accepted into an infertility study on PCOS. Instead, I had spent the night at my parents place and spent the day pacing and feeling miserable in my own skin. I just didn’t know what to do with myself, my anxiety was palpable and surely rubbing off on the baby, despite my efforts not to affect him. I tried to play with him, but I could not concentrate, I tried to force myself to relax but the waves of emotional terror, regret, disappointment, sadness, and anger flooded every fiber of my being. When Flaco came home later in the afternoon, that is when he made his pronouncement of our demise. On the day of love my heart was cruelly shattered, callously crushed and discarded like invaluable garbage. But, for the sake of the baby, my son, I held it together. I marched on each day at a time. Until they took him, simply because I was no longer a “we.” “They” wanted him to be in a two parent household, and as my family worker said “Doesn’t he deserve that?” Perhaps. But, he was doing really good with me, learning new words by the dozens, decreasing the intensity and duration of his mighty temper tantrums, and just generally being an active and happy little boy. And yet, he was once again ripped from what he was accustomed to and placed somewhere else. In my heart, I believe his new parents are as loving and kind as could be and that he is happy. For the sake of my sanity I cannot imagine it any other way.

I’m grateful that I have endured the worse year of my life and that the malice of this world did not crush me beyond repair. I knew I was a strong person, but I have never had a cause to prove it before last year. Now, I know that I know that I know I am a strong person; my strength is gathered through my faith, through the goodness of God, and through the wonderful, caring people around me. Since I began taking in foster children again, I haven’t really felt as lonely. But, when Hurricane Sandy hit and I was lying in my bed listening to the forceful gusts of wind rip through my community and tear at my house, I felt a profound feeling of loneliness. I wished to be cuddled in Flaco’s arms, sharing his warmth and knowing we would be ok together. Cuddling with the cats and dog for warmth was a poor substitute and only compounded my feelings of solitude. Even when I was living in a foreign country, an outcast because of difference in language and culture, I didn’t feel as alone as I did that night. I spent the next night on a friend’s couch, only partially due to not having electricity. Today, I am struggling to not feel bitter. Seeing the exchange of flowers at work, hearing about last-minute Valentine’s Day gifts on the radio and news, and knowing I am alone makes me wish for things to be different. I’ve dabbled in dating but seem to find mostly needy “boys” or men looking for only one “thing.” It makes my stomach churn. And truth be told, Flaco has never really left. He still shows up at least once a week or he texts me or calls me. Generally, I feel like I am in a better place emotionally and don’t feel the need to rush into a relationship, just to have a relationship. But, on days like today, I wish I could be someone’s something – girlfriend, fiancé, wife….. So, I am a little bitter being alone and I’m very bah-humbug when it comes to silly little cupids shooting arrows of love. Prior to being married, I was something of a romantic, now I think I’m a little jaded. So, take your Valentine’s Day and shove it Hallmark. I took the kiddos to the doctor’s today to celebrate business as usual.

Mini Rant

* Warning *

The following is an irrational rant......

I ran into someone I used to know when I took the kids to the doctor last week. She was surprised to see me with two kids and asked who they were. I explained that they were my foster children. Her question? "Do you have any children of your own?"

I have come across this before. I tell someone I (or we) am adopting and they ask about biological children. It pisses me off. I don't want to tell you that I have infertility issues, why can't you just accept that I am adopting a child and be happy for me? Or, could you at least make the logical leap without me spilling my guts? I don't want to watch you cringe as I tell you I'm a flipping infertile loser and why should I have to explain why I am adopting in the first place? I don't walk up to a pregnant woman and ask her why she's not adopting. Of course, adopting as a single woman makes more sense. Although, that is if you know I am single. I don't usually walk around with my "I'm infertile and oh, by the way my husband left" t-shirt on. Anyway, it just pissed me off that this woman didn't even so much as say, "good for you" when I declared my intent to adopt. Why force me to tell you the whole gut-wrenching story? Go stick your nosy face into someone else's business!

End rant.

Discover the Dinosaurs

I can't believe the kids have been with for nearly a month now. I guess time is just flying by! Today we went to see Discover the Dinosaurs which had large robotic dinosaurs, figurines, a place to "dig" up bones, and other child-friendly activities. It was a lot of fun! And a friend from work went along with her daughter, so I had help wrangling the older child. The baby clung to me most of the time and only after we were away from the large dinosaurs did he feel comfortable enough to run around and play. I would say he's a momma's boy, but I'm not his momma - at least not his permanent momma.....

Last night the older child was sent to bed early because she was misbehaving. This gave me and the baby some quality alone time together, which we have never really had. He reminds me so much of my first foster care child that it nearly breaks me heart. And being that I had that baby this same time last year, well it is sometimes a little tough on the heart strings...... While I was giving the baby his bath and watching him splash and play alone in the tub, I couldn't help but think of his future. Unlike other foster care placements I have had, I knew when I took these kids in roughly how long I would have them (although, this has changed). So I knew, going into it, that I could not get attached, that this was only a temporary situation and that before I knew it they would be whisked away to their mother's place and my home would be empty again. So, I concentrated on the here and now with them. Only, when I was watching the baby giggle and smile in the tub, I couldn't help but wonder at what kind of little boy he would be like or if he would still have such a beautiful smile as a sullen teenager. And it made me sad. I get to hold babies and children for a brief moment in time and never get to see the final outcome. I don't get to know how they turn out or what becomes of them 5, 10, 15 years from now. When the baby reaches for me, it melts my heart. He feels safe with me, he knows I will be there to take care of him. Being bounced around as they have, I wonder if he's felt that way often in his short time on earth?

 The older child had a break-through in potty training today. She managed to wear her big girl panties almost the entire day without having an accident. Despite my reservations, she insisted on wearing her big girl panties to the dinosaur exhibit. And she did a fantastic job! No accident at all! She did have an accident when we got home, but did great the rest of the night. This is huge because although we've been trying ever since she moved in with me to kick the pull up habit, it has been a dismal failure. Today, it seemed totally plausible! So, I'm not sure if we will try our luck tomorrow and wear the big girl panties to church. I do want her to be potty trained because she is definitely old enough to not need to be wearing pull ups. So, I guess we shall see!

Extended Duration

So, as it turns out, the kiddos most likely will be sticking around longer than originally assumed. The county case worker came to visit us Saturday morning. She was very happy that I had agreed to take in these kids and at the end, after speaking to me for about 30 minutes, she left asking, “Can we keep you?” She was pleased with what she saw and with my attitude towards the unruly older child. She reiterated the “we are not happy with mom” sentiment and expanded to explain that the older child has other family resources that are actively looking to gain custody of her but paternity is unclear for the baby. She did hint that their stint with me will most likely be longer than the proposed 6-8 weeks but gave no indication of how much longer.

I was explaining the above to my co-worker friend who is also a foster parent with CHOR and has successfully adopted and her response was, “Sometimes things happen like this, you never know. That’s why it’s a good idea to not take on foster care cases when you are thinking of adopting.” It’s not a direct quote, but basically the gist of what she said, the idea being that “my” child will be lost to me because I have these two kids living with me and CHOR will not place another child in my care while they are still with me. It’s easy to think like this and honestly, that is why I wasn’t gung-ho about taking them in when I was originally called. But, I am slowly learning to trust God’s plan and His timing more. It’s something I am sure He has been working on with me this whole time I’ve been dealing with infertility. I have just never wanted to listen. I wanted to figure it all out and make my own plans and have them fit to my timetable. It’s taken me 4 years to reach this point. I’m not frantically thinking that I will miss the baby that is supposed to be mine because I accepted these two little ones into my home. I listened to a heavenly prompting to take these kids in, when it didn’t make sense to my mind, to my plan, to my timetable or my goal. But, there must be some reason that God wanted these two with me. And He is now giving me the grace to be peaceful with my decision to have them, despite the duration of their stay being extended. I have proof of this because I received some news today about the thing I was so vague about before Christmas, the thing that could be a wonderful miracle. I thought it was lost, that it was not meant to be my miracle. Today I found out the initial information was faulty and this “thing” is still waiting in the wings until Spring time. I doubt this makes any sense to anyone other than me, but I know it was meant to be a sign, it was meant for me to realize that God’s plan and His timing is perfect and my job is to not figure things out but just to have faith and believe. For so long I felt like I have been trying to prove to God that I deserve to be a mother. I had this crazy idea that if I stop planning and trying to control an outcome that is out of my control anyway that God would not let me be a mother, He would deny me something that would break my heart and crush my spirit. If I didn’t push God, He would not give me what I want. Luckily, that is not how God works. He said we only need to ask and it shall be given. He didn’t say when or how it would be given, just that it would. So, rather than continually set lines in the sand, mentally creating a finish line with a date and time, I am just resting in the assurance that I will be a mother. I don’t know when. I don’t know how. I know that I am and should be prepared and I know that I should be waiting in hopeful expectation, but I have no deadline, no drop dead date when I have to move on to plan B (or in my case plan W).

The other thing to consider about having the children now is the connection I have made with the county worker. We talked briefly about my time as a foster mother and the failed adoption and how I am once again hoping to adopt, only this time alone. She was flabbergasted when she heard what happened with the first baby I had and she said, “I want you to know our county does not discriminate against single parents.” It made me feel good, like I finally have someone (other than the fabulous case workers at CHOR) in my corner, trying to get “my” baby to me. I really like this county worker (the only other county worker I had such good rapport with was also from this county – when I had the babies in November) and she liked me. I don’t know what God has planned for the future, but I’m sure He designed for this connection to occur. That in and of itself makes me feel like having the kids temporarily is part of a grander plan. I don’t know; it’s not for me to figure out……

No End in Sight

      So, the good news is that the kids and I are settling into a routine together and getting used to one another on a daily basis. The bad news is twofold; one, the honeymoon is over, meaning that the gloves are off and they (especially the older child) feel free to show their true colors and act out and two, what was supposed to be 6-8 weeks seems to be dragging out.

      Generally speaking, when a child is first placed in a home, either for their first time in foster care or when they are moved (as in the case of these two munchkins) they are usually on their best (or better) behavior. Attitudes and issues that might have been prevalent at a previous foster home seem non-existent when they are moved. At first. But, once the child settles in and gets the lay of the land, they begin testing the waters and acting out. The older child I have right now has always been a handful. Even when I had her on just the weekends she could be very defiant and not listen at all. When she first moved here I noticed pretty much the same level of behavioral issues. But, this week they have escalated beyond that into the stratosphere of trying every last ounce of my patience. She has even been rattling the babysitter, who is a seasoned foster mother. The baby is less of an issue but he has these crying jags in the car that nearly cause me to have heart palpitations just because I try to get him to stop. The entire backseat of my car is carpeted in a layer of kix cereal because letting him eat some (and inevitable spill most) is the only thing to keep him from screaming the entire 30 minutes to and from the babysitters. Other than that, he's a peach.

      So, the second issue is one I just found out tonight. The social worker from CHOR came over for a brief visit and I asked her what she knew about their future. She said she had not really heard anything lately, but the only thing she has heard is that the county is not thrilled with their mother. Now, I have limited understanding of this whole case because the kids were just kind of plopped in my lap. My understanding is that whatever cause there was to remove the children is being rectified and they should very soon be able to return to their mother. And this was really the reason that I agreed to take the children, because I was told it would only be for a short while and then I could go back to waiting to be matched with a legal risk child. But, now it looks like what was going to be 6-8 weeks might stretch beyond that. Sure, these things are out of the control of the CHOR case workers because it is in the hands of the county, but it still grates a bit on my nerves because I have different goals now. But, it would be entirely too selfish to ask to have the children moved just because I want to make room for "my" child to be placed with me. So, I have to readjust my thinking on this. I had marked in my calendar when the kids would be with me for 6 weeks and we are half way there. Now, I guess I might be looking at 10 or 12 weeks - who knows, I am only projecting because I was not given any real idea. In fact, the time frame that I was given was not really set by a case worker, it was told to me by the previous foster family. And you know what they say about assumptions..... The case worker from the county is coming out to see us tomorrow morning and I will ask her the same question I asked the CHOR case worker tonight. She might have a better idea, since she is working more closely with the mother.

      Now, the thought has occurred to me, "well, what if they don't go back?" And this is a slight pickle. Perhaps because I am becoming better at the whole detachment thing and because I knew up-front that these kiddos would very soon be going home, I have not gotten quite as attached. Sure, I care about them a whole lot and we have lots of hugs and kisses all around. BUT, to save my poor broken heart (I still cry about the girls from November) I think I am putting up a little inner wall and not letting them get all the way inside. Good or bad, it's the truth. So what I am saying is that I cannot see them as children that might potentially stay with me simply because I have never let myself even fathom it. They are going home, period. And I don't know how hard it would be to transition myself into a different frame of mind altogether. At this point, I think I am still stuck on the fact that I HAD an infant and what I really want is an infant. These two are not infants. But, this is all conjecture at this point. It doesn't even make sense to think about it right now.

      You know, it's funny because after dealing with some of the mom's antics last weekend when the kiddos went for a sleep-over, I was telling another foster mom friend that I was kind of just ready for these kids to be moved home rather than deal with any more issues. And, now it seems I'm in it for the long haul despite my reluctance to get into it at all! Funny how these things work out, right? And, you might be asking, just why did you take these kids if you know your goal is really to adopt? It's a good and very valid question. And it was something that I struggled with when it was first presented to me. Here's the story. I had been asked if I would consider taking them and given a weekend with them to see how things go. The Monday I was supposed to give my decision I was called with a potential legal risk case for two children who were older (like in preschool). I was supposed to meet them at the CHOR Christmas party. Then, before the CHOR Christmas party I got another call for 3 little girls. This placement fell through, the kids never showed up at the Christmas party and I was given a call later to take the two I have now for just a weekend. During the respite call the case worker mentioned still looking for a place for these two kids. I said I would take them for the weekend and we ended the call. But, almost immediately after I hung up the phone, I felt bad for the kids. They are cute kids (of course I think all kids are cute) and I liked having them for the weekends. We got along ok and they had gotten used to me. I just felt a big tug to take them in, despite my misgivings. "Why be selfish?" I thought. It was only for a short time, right? And so I called back and said I would take them. And here we are today. I guess it all sounds a little silly. I don't really regret the decision, at least I have kids in the house again. I just have that longing for "my" child to come home and I worry that I might miss "my" child because I have these two living with me now. I must believe that God has a plan with all of this and that He will be sure "my" child reaches me in one way or another. It just looks like that might be a few more weeks away than I originally had thought.......